


Small Fry!

by analogDemon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Macro/Micro, Micro, Self Harm, arts and crafts, maid outfit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analogDemon/pseuds/analogDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur picks up a new hobby and puts down everything else. Eventually he's micro and in a maid outfit so stick around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Fry!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinghts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinghts/gifts).



> Not gonna lie this fic was inspired by BeatriceTheGolden and Konata101 's "Taco Hell". If you've read it you'll notice similarities in the dynamic and the fact that Arthur ends up micro but not MUCH else (no scat or farting in mine, I'm not a huge fan of scat). Had to tip my hat to them for creating that trip of a fic though. Hope this note doesn't scare away anyone who hasn't read theirs, woops whatever. Have fun kids.

It all began with Arthur's extended diplomatic trip to Japan. What had started out with military council discussions and trade agreements began to denigrate into glorified sleep overs, with talk of boys, all nighter video game binges, and hours of horror flicks (Kiku's pick this time, much to easily frightened Arthur's chagrin). Towards the end of his stay Mr. Honda even opened up about a personal hobby and managed to spark the Englishman's interest. Arthur had always personally been a fan of the careful art of knitting doilies and sewing up clothes but seeing all the agonizing effort that went into Kiku's own craft ignited the flame of his inner masochist. Arthur had heard of making miniatures and dollhouses before but this was a whole different ballpark. There were handmade dolls whose distinct faces were painted on with painful precision, scale versions of real homes that latched on one side for easy access to the interior, hand lain wooden floors, sculpted wall sconces, working miniature lamps, the sheer enormity of work that went into these tiny creations made Arthur's head swim. Taking advantage of his surroundings, Arthur made a point to pick up tips from Kiku, magazines about doll making, crafting,"kawaii" decoden art, and any special supplies that would be hard to find at home before he left Japan. He planned to throw himself into his new hobby full force when arrived back on his own island nation.

******

Months passed. Desperate lonely and painful months passed. Arthur did nothing but pour his heart and soul into his newfound passion. He created a scale version of his own home first, instilling  in his premier creation as much detail as he could, a foolhardy personal challenge that led to his scrapping the entire project twice before settling on “satisfied”.  But his burning the candle at both ends for a hobby led to complications in the outside world. He neglected work, friends, and even his lover, for days and weeks at a time. He arranged for food to be sent to his home so he wouldn’t have to leave his “studio” (his former drawing room no longer had space to occupy guests anyhow.) After he felt satisfied enough with his “home” he began to work on miniature versions of famous architecture from his homeland(he was a proud englishman after all). Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, even the London Eye, his hobby became an obsession. A normal person would have only continued to pursue their craft with this intensity while it remained “fun” but something deep in Arthur sought the frustration and emotional anguish that came with his inevitable stress driven failures. It was an odd kind of self harm, but he often found his deep seated masochism expressing itself in everyday situations. Occasionally when he found himself using precision tools to create some of the more intricate sculptures, he would nick himself on purpose. He let the blood pool on his finger for a moment watching with and oddly objective curiosity how it congealed and dried. He pressed on in this destructive pattern day in and day out paying almost no mind to the way those around him were feeling, too wrapped up in his own self deprecating tendencies to notice that Alfred was in pain as well.

__________________________________________________________________

Alfred had seen it happen time and time again, Arthur would throw himself headlong into a new project and let that singular objective consume him until he was done, or at least until he fizzled out and abandoned it (the latter was usually the case). Arthur had a lot of drive, a sort of manic determination but his attention was often drawn elsewhere, by business or relationships, maintaining that kind of laser focus was difficult. Alfred could appreciate that in his partner, his problem was more that he had a short attention span, but being the physical embodiment of a world superpower did leave him feeling spread thin. Both men found themselves with pent up emotional tension, but very little energy to deal with it, something their easygoing domestic relationship helped soothe. But Alfred had also bore witness to a somewhat darker side of Arthur’s intensity. There had always been an aspect of self deprecation to Arthur, which Al for the longest time chalked up to the stuffiness and emotional suppression inherent in English high society, but eventually he began to recognize that his partners issues had deeper roots. He would see sparks of Arthurs masochistic tendencies crop up from time to time. Reckless driving, cutting himself preparing dinner a little too often, his insistence on delayed orgasm in the bedroom; all of these things were smaller ways he let off some of the steam. Although Arthur never explicitly asked for pain during sex, Alfred got the feeling he wasn’t being told to stop or go easier as much as he would with another partner. Over time he began to recognize when Arthur’s cup was about to spill over, and he learned to enjoy knowing, without it being spoken, that his partner enjoyed his roughness instead of trying to downplay it. It was because of his intimate knowledge of Arthur that he became so worried about him, he didn’t usually shut himself off like this, never for this long. At least in the beginning Alfred was concerned..

Eventually the neglect began to eat at him, this no longer felt like another one of Arthur’s manic episodes, it felt like a personal slight, like he was being punished even! He felt guilty for his jealousy but only for so long. Spending his nights in an empty bed with nothing but his calloused right hand to keep him company made him bitter. He didn’t care if he seemed petulant, no one had ever taken pause before calling him childish before, so why would they now? It didn’t help that he masturbated more now than when he was 13 (and lasted about as long.) Living day by day with no one who would talk to him seriously, and going to bed every night alone, when there was someone who had promised to satisfy these simple needs, made him hurt. He let his resentment fester for so long that one day, he had a break of his own. Unlike Arthur who had the overwhelming urge to be in pain and let himself become controlled by his obsession, Alfred wanted to cause pain and feel in control of their spiralling relationship for once. He resolved himself to confront his  partner at home and take him violently until he was shocked into realizing his mistake. Alfred wouldn’t be outshone by a damn dollhouse.

******

He had made the trip a thousand times and no longer needed a chauffeur or even a map, with one hand on the wheel Alfred made his way down twisted London streets half dazed. His other hand lazily stroked his dick in preparation. He wanted to waste no time in foreplay, the cute shit was over. Before long he found himself outside Arthur’s estate, the guard let him pass without a second thought and just like that he was at the front door. Alfred let himself in and made his way to the upstairs drawing room, knowing full and well where his estranged partner holed himself away.

___________________________________________________________________________

Arthur was shocked out of his concentration by the sound of footsteps coming up his stairs, was it time for the food to be delivered already? Hadn’t he told his help to keep away? He was in the last stages of sewing together an outfit for one of his doll’s that would have made Francis proud. How the hell was he supposed to focus with someone slamming their feet on the steps he mused angrily as he hunkered down at his craft table. He nearly fell off of his stool when the door to his studio slammed open against the wall, connecting hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall behind it. In the doorway stood the tall figure of his lover, though the image didn’t register at first. An unceremonious entry was not uncommon for Alfred but this was a bit much, and the cool look in his eyes made his smiling mouth seem sinister.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Arthur croaked. His voice weak with under-use.

“Good to see you too, honey.” Alfred quipped, with a sickly sweet voice that contrasted with his confident stance, and what Arthur began to realize was a glare.

Alfred began to close the gap between them in long strides with a gait even more upright and confident than usual. The englishman noticed quickly(on his little stool his eyes were at crotch level) that the other man’s belt, button, and fly were undone and there rested the distinct outline of an erect penis through the worn blue fabric of his jeans. Shocked at the sudden and aggressive display of sexuality the older man sat motionless and slack jawed as Alfred pushed his table aside. The sudden motion caused Arthur to drop the nearly finished outfit to the ground, and as he reached down to pick it up again (his priorities out of line from his self induced quarantine) he felt hands roughly grab his shoulders and pull him to his feet. As quickly as those hands had his shoulders, one moved to his mouth, muffling his squeak of surprise. He felt hot breath on his neck and a tickle against his skin from Alfred’s blonde bangs. Silent and immobilized he listened quietly while the younger man whispered in his ear.

“You were always sooo quick to call me childish and selfish, to put me down while you acted all high and mighty in front of your friends.” Alfred let out a dry laugh,

“You lock yourself in this room for months and don’t even fucking try to see me. You sit on your pasety little ass and make dolls all day long like a little girl. You’re nothing but a hypocritical piece of shit you know that? At least I’m going to live up to expectations, and take what I want.”

Arthur felt his knees go weak as Alfred began to drag him across the room, his mouth still covered and his hands now held in place behind his back by the stronger man’s forearms. He couldn’t tell if it was an inner-ear response to not being in control of his balance, or if Alfred’s quiet biting words were stimulating his long untouched body.  He felt the younger man’s hard warmth against the small of his back and was embarrassed at his acceptance of this spontaneous and violent visit.

Then it happened. A loud crunch sounded out through the tense silence. The American had been carelessly dragging Arthur across the crowded workshop and neither noticed, nor cared about the painstakingly detailed replica of Big Ben on its side, paint still drying, blocking his path. The sound rang through the englishman’s ears and he jolted to attention. He managed to slip out of the younger man’s grip, his starved thin wrists becoming an advantage.

“YOU UTTER FUCKING BUFFOON! ” he yelled, his pale face turning red with rage, “YOU MINDLESS DAMN SIMPLETON WATCH WHERE YOU DROP YOUR FUCKING CLOWN FEET!”

A vein stood out on Alfred’s forehead, he was enraged. Arthur quickly dodged the younger man’s lunging arms, but found himself scrambling on the cluttered drawing room floor. Alfred grabbed his gaunt(nearly spectral) partner by the ankles and began to drag him across the sheen wooden surface, Arthur scratching for a grip to no avail. Once again the smaller man used his slim stature to his advantage and slipped from Alfred’s sweaty grip and in a moment of blind fear, kicked the other man square in the nose. As Alfred sat dazed on the floor of the stuffy room, Arthur made a hysterical dash to the door.

He hobbled down the stairs, trying not to slip on polished surface, and made a beeline for the back door. Not daring to look behind, he ran through his overgrown yard to the disheveled green-house occupying the southeastern corner of the property. Once inside, he slammed the door behind himself without care and quickly began moving the nearest table in front of the door, dead and dying plants fell to the ground as he pushed his weak body to the limit, blubbering quietly the entire time. Once the table was in place, he backed up slowly, in short shuffling steps, his eyes never leaving the door, until his back hit the wall opposite. He slid to the ground disregarding the dirt and refuse around him, and sat cross-legged in shock. Tears rolled out of his eyes and he let his gaze break from the translucent wall ahead of him. Head hanging low, the small man cried until his eyes were red, and eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.  

 


End file.
